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Russia had thought he would obtain an easy victory against Japan.
The stars had stood in his favour, or so he had initially thought. Besides having so much more – manpower, guns, resources – he was European, and at the end of the day that was all that counted. Because everybody knew that European superiority came in the blood, that the progress of those nations was exclusively limited to those minds who regarded themselves as Western.
The East had long since lost its edge, preferring to rot in feudality rather than strive for the stars, idolising stagnation and decadence over personal growth and honing one’s skills. If anything, the battle was decided before the first shot was fired. Fine silks and elaborate ceremonies wouldn’t save Japan from gunpowder and heavy artillery. It would, however, make Ivan’s victory more satisfying.
At night, Russia contemplated if he should tear more than Korea and Manchuria from the yellow grip, if he should maul the Japanese spirit a bit more in lieu of his victory. For all he was, it was his birthright to do so – as a personification and as an empire that had interests in expansion, it was his due to subjugation and control.
That was why being defeated proved to be all the more humiliating.
He went into the conflict confident that he would emerge the undisputed victor and he was allowed to reap all the benefits due to that position. His laurel would be one decorated with the spoils of war, new lands, and new resources. The confirmation of conquest would be enough to quell the growing discontent festering in his bones and poisoning his mind.
Another humiliating treaty could reassert Asian inferiority, the world once again being provided living proof that eugenics held validity. Russia would make headlines; glory would be his to name and he would revel in it. It would cause the others to fear him all the more, regard him as the next hegemon in the making. Snatching away territories from Japan was just a small step in his grand dream to hold absolute power.
And yet, the island nation set out to prove him wrong from the very first day. Once, Japan had been a splintered country ruled by mediaeval ideals, the merchants wallowing at the bottom of the food chain while the shoguns dedicated the laws and the rules. Domains ruled by warrior poets that believed that honour was more valuable than life. The emperor had been a mere figurehead – all the splendour and riches the nation could dispense invested in catering to a pampered puppet.
Yet that had all changed. Kiku had metaphorically slit himself open and turned himself inside out in the progress of the Meiji Restoration. Gone were the samurai that fought battles with katanas and in artistic armour. Gone were the backward ways of the Japanese people as the nation had been catapulted forwards, somehow managing to condense centuries worth of steady progression and exploration into just a few decades. A feat of discipline and mastery on its own.
The war was a test of mettle and opportunity to expand interests for the re-established nation. For the adoption of Western ideals had set off a chain reaction that had reignited his imperial ambitions. It was also part self-preservation, because Kiku didn’t want to be carved up and exploited as Yao had. Alfred coerced him to open his ports and the chaotic consequences of that had been more than enough.
It was with dread that Ivan watched as the conscript army of Imperial Japan butchered his forces. The way his enemy plunged into battle with a vigour that was closer to suicidal idealisation than blood lust had sparked uttermost terror in him. A feat that wasn’t easy, with all that he had lived through.
Still, even as he was back in the corner that was Port Arthur, besieged by somebody he had firmly believed to be his inferior, he had hoped to salvage the situation along with his reputation.
That was why being defeated proved to be all the more humiliating.
As per usual, Nicolas proved himself to be a moron.
Really, Ivan didn’t know why he was surprised anymore. As well intentioned as he could have been, he was utterly inept as a sovereign. If the crown weighs heavy on any head, then it was on the head of a fool. He just wasn’t cut for the role as Czar.
Even as the man sent words of reassurance to the nation, he committed grave mistakes. While Russia himself took immense pride in being the biggest country of the globe, it proved to be a tactical disadvantage. The land troops took months to arrive, and the fleet arrived – battered from the long journey around the Cape of Good Hope and the crews follies.
Japan seizing Port Arthur and in extension him was a smarting blow. The recently modernised and fledgling empire then proceeded to do the unthinkable – an Asian nation had forced a European empire on its knees.
That was why being defeated proved to be all the more humiliating.
It led to the negotiation table, with Ivan’s blood boiling with anger, the wrath kept behind a schooled expression and subtle expression in bitter words and glares. He had been angry at his ruler, who had played his part in orchestrating this disaster, who had condemned him to defeat. At Japan, who sat across from him with a stoic expression but who he knew was inwardly basking in the glory and attention he was receiving. At the world, who gawked at the novelty that was a beaten Russia and a triumphed Japan.
And most importantly, he was angry with himself, with his failure and tattered ego. His mind roiled with vows of vengeance and repercussions. First in line for his ire was the Czar and his weak grasp on power, a shy man that couldn’t have stood in greater contrast to Peter the Great.
As he endured the mocking eyes of the other Westerners, he felt loathing well up in him. For America, who for all his competitive nature and greed had elected to play the white dove and broker for peace. It was probably his way of showing he was the shining city on the hill.
For England, who had thwarted his plans and smiled at Japan in curiosity and cynical fondness. Russia knew that Britain had played puppeteer to these events to a greater extent than was apparent. He was well aware of the coy glances he sent Japan when he thought nobody was looking, how he would gaze into those chestnut eyes intently behind closed doors and wantonly slide his hand down the curve of the others spin and between a set of sinewy thighs.
For all of them, because he just had to be the example, the display, the indisputable evidence that their beliefs about being the pinnacle of human achievement and categorism to be false.